


this is what makes us girls

by FallenGracex



Series: dirty stories to read before bed [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Underage - Freeform, Virginity Kink, Voyeurism, inspired by lana del rey's song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-08-23 17:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGracex/pseuds/FallenGracex
Summary: It didn't take her long to realize that the knights from her songs are far less appealing than the real men. When a certain lord gifts Ned Stark with his visit, he instantly catches Sansa's attention.





	1. the first encounter

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to my favourite Lana songs and they always make me come up with a nice sinful plot. This one is still warm from the keyboard, lol. There are gonna be more one-shots like this, some of them may possibly become longer stories. Reviews would be much appreciated! xx

_There she was, my new best friend_  
_High heels in her hand, swayin' in the wind_  
_When she starts to cry_  
_Mascara running down her little Bambi eyes_  
_"**Sansa**, how I hate those guys"_

***

Her love for charming knights was long gone. She left it in all the twelve-years-old tears she cried when Prince Joffrey rejected her, she left it in her young hopefuls when she tried to charm Loras Tyrell during her short stay in King's Landing. It wasn't her fault. _You're not ugly,_ the boys used to say, _you just don't fit within us. _And Sansa was desperate, until she started to notice her father's swordsmen in the yard, all the older men skilled in life. Men with wrinkles around their eyes, with raw fingers and deep, raspy voices, smiling ever so slightly when they saw her. That was when she realized. Sansa really wasn't made for the young-uns. 

A weird atmosphere crawled towards Winterfell when she woke up. She could hear lots of shouting from the outside, maids rushed through the hallways, their quick soft steps tapping against the thick stone floor. Sometimes, a rattle of metal echoed through her head and she jumped off her bed, scared. Her first thought was that someone attacked the castle and there was a war to come. Sansa quickly climbed up to the window and carefully looked around. Everything seemed to be perfectly fine, except for the gate that suddenly flew open.

Another sound filled her ears once again, it was neighing of the horses this time. She carefully watched all the knights with weird round helmets until she finally saw the sigil - black background, white cross and a red and pink flayed man pinned to it. Her eyes widened and Sansa jumped to the ground. The Boltons. Of all houses of the North, The Boltons were the least expected surprise on a Sunday morning. Sansa felt the urge to find her mother and ask her for help with her preparations. She run towards the window once again, her heart slamming against her rib cage. 

_There he was._

A tall figure in the very front of all the knights, his face hidden under a thick layer of black furs, gently caressed by the crisp wind. His horse was black as well, uneasy and wild, it wasn't able to stand still for a second. The rider pulled on the reins and turned his head in the direction of Sansa's window. Sansa smiled, her cheeks immediately crimson with embarrassment. He couldn't see her, but she felt like she was being watched anyway. Sansa quickly scanned his appearance. Pale face roamed with deep wrinkles, thin brown hair greying on the sides of his head, his chin covered in a thick, perfectly trimmed grey-brown beard.

Sansa bit her lip.

***

What was the purpose of Eddard Stark's invitation, he couldn't tell. He'd rather stay in the creepy calmness of the Dreadfort, but he couldn't ignore his liege lord as well. Roose decided to leave his bastard at home, he'd cause more trouble than profit anyway. Whom he _didn't_ leave at home was his new wife. Walda, once Frey, now Bolton, rode by his side, her thick figure fighting with gravity and the fact that she just wasn't good at riding. But she was smiling, she was happy to represent her new house so soon after the marriage. From time to time, Roose watched her with the corner of his eye. She certainly didn't make him happy, but she has made him very rich.

Once he set his foot onto the Winterfell ground, he immediately knew that he wasn't very welcome. The Boltons truly weren't anyone's favorite, except for Walder Frey and Tywin Lannister - Roose was a good companion in scheming. He watched the Starks gather to meet him and the corner of his lips raised with pure amusement, though his eyes remained still and unaffected.

Roose climbed off his horse and made his way towards the inhabitants of the castle. Before he opened his mouth to say anything, he quickly counted them. The lord was here, his wife as well, their eldest son was also present, as well as the two young boys and their little sister. He frowned. One _pup_ was missing. That was when a loud giggle cut through the air, followed by a burst of laugh. Sweet, girlish laugh. Two distant voices that quickly approached his curious ears. That laugh made his cock twitch in his breeches.

_There she was._

A lean figure, arms entangled with some other girl he didn't give a shit about, mouth wide open in a remnant of a laugh that slowly died in her throat. A pair of big blue eyes, great contrast to the steel grey sky that lingered above Winterfell. All attention was on her, including his own. Lord Eddard wore a furious expression, Lady Catelyn only looked disappointed, the siblings simply didn't care. Roose felt aroused. The red haired vixen slowly made her way towards him. She didn't wear any shoes, only a simple white gown, stained with green around her ankles, her nipples piercing the thin fabric. Gods, was it _that_ cold? The pain between his legs increased. He looked into her eyes. Her stare was almost challenging, a slight tug to her full pink lips, similar to his own harsh smirk.

Roose licked his lips.

***

_The prettiest in-crowd that you had ever seen_  
_Ribbons in our hair, and our eyes gleamed dream_  
_A freshmen generation of degenerate beauty queens_  
_And **you **know something?_


	2. the idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa grows more and more curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn't expect so many kudos and hits just for the first chapter alone, thank you! I'm not sure if this thing is gonna stay a some-chapters-shot, lol. Anyway, thanks a million! Maybe I'll extend it into a proper story. But who knows. Well, enjoy this chapter, it's heating up!

Maybe it was her destiny to ruin lives of the men. Many young and fresh lords and knights begged her father for her hand, but Eddard Stark respected her daughter when she declined all of the proposals. They were all so... inexperienced. So was Sansa. They were clumsy around her, their hands sweaty and their voices shaky with desire they weren't able to hide. They tried so hard to win her over, to make her fall in love with them, hopeless and desperate the way they were. But Sansa wasn't an ordinary girl. She was drawn to different things. 

The Stark household feasted that night, as well as the Bolton guests. Lord Stark sat them in a honorable spot right next to the high table. The knights were drunk the moment they were handed a goblet, but one Bolton man stood sharp as a blade in the mead mess that was his army. His piercing pale eyes scanned the whole room for a little glimpse of red. His cock was hard and swollen in his breeches and it wasn't a job of any of the Winterfell whores, though he had to admit that the redhead called Ros was _nearly_ as appealing as the little dove he was looking for.

Sansa sat with Jeyne Poole and quickly whispered something into her ear. Roose couldn't tell what it was, but by the way Sansa's cheeks were colored in deep crimson, it was definitely something very peppery. Were they talking about boys? About the young knights sitting beside her father's table? Which one was the most handsome? Which one had probably the biggest cock? Well, they were definitely not talking about him, that was for sure. He was far too _old_, his hairline slowly receding, the rest of his hair turning grey, the wrinkles on his face deepening. He wasn't a nice sight for such a young girl. She deserved to look at someone fair like her, she deserved to grow old with him, not to witness the elderly man at such a young age. _Little did he know._

"Congratulations on your new wife, Lord Bolton. I wish you many happy years and many beautiful heirs to come. How did you come across such a nice young bride?" Lady Catelyn leaned towards him. Roose smiled. She wasn't honest. Lady Walda was a tub of lard, not nice at all, but she was jolly and brought some good spirits between the cold walls of the Dreadfort. Roose didn't grow any certain feeling towards his new wife, but he didn't despise her.

"Thank you, my lady. Walder Frey promised me the girl's weight in silver as a dowry. Now I have a fat young bride."

Catelyn frowned.

"I hope she makes you very happy."

"She has made me very rich," Roose raised his eyebrows at her, another winning smile pulling on his lips.

***

Sansa _tried_ to keep up with Jeyne's pointless banter, but her attention kept turning towards the high table. She watched her mother converse with the handsome lord and she felt her insides tug with jealousy. 

"Seven hells, Sansa, look at him!" Sansa unwillingly tore her eyes from the sight in front of her and approached Jeyne. She almost started to swoon at the sight of some young stereotypically gorgeous knight who just entered the room. He was definitely a rare breed among the Bolton soldiers, Sansa was sure of that. But though he was _painfully_ handsome to Jeyne, Sansa didn't feel a thing. Not even a single tug of desire between her legs, not even a little glimpse of it. Jeyne, though, was practically swooning. Sansa decided to take advantage of her attention being turned elsewhere and returned to continue to silently watch the high table.

"Sansa? _Sansa!_"

The redhead almost jumped. 

"What is it, Jeyne?" she breathed, her cheeks flushed.

"You're watching Lord Bolton, aren't you?" Jeyne raised an eyebrow at her, amused. Sansa shook her head quickly. Only then she realized that was the clue Jeyne needed. The other girl laughed and smirked at her knowingly. "You're really wasting your life with that old ugly flayer? Gods, Sansa, he's almost grey," Jeyne continued, disgusted. "He's probably grey everywhere. Do you know what I mean, Sansa?_ Everywhere!_" Her voice turned into a soft spooky whisper, as if she was trying to tell some scary tale. But Sansa stared her dead in the eye, not even a little bit scared by Lord Bolton being grey _everywhere_. Sansa's eyes contained a weird, ethereal gleam. She liked that idea.

"Oh, and his arse is probably wrinkly and saggy." Jeyne couldn't help herself but try to count every possible disgusting thing she could think of and apply it on Sansa's target of interest. _Pathetic_, Sansa thought.

"Let's find out," Sansa said suddenly. Jeyne's eyes widened.

"What?! How are we supposed to do that?"

"Not us. _Me_," Sansa explained, a proud smile tugging on her lips.

"But how?" Jeyne desperately wanted to know what her plan was. Sansa's smile widened even more.

"Well, just out of complete _coincidence_, I know where Lord Bolton is staying in the castle." 

Jeyne frowned.

"_And_ I know where his bathing chamber is!" 


	3. lord's bathtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan comes to its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a writing spree today. One more chapter for you!  
The lyrics are Lolita by Lana Del Rey. What a fitting song. ;)

_Never was in love, skippin' heart beats with the boys downtown_  
_Just **you** and **me** feeling the heat beatin' when the sun goes down_

***

Sansa anxiously awaited the signal announcing the end of the feast. Men were drunk, the whores settled in the warm beds with strong arms wrapped around them and Sansa just sat in the hall, joyful nature of a gathering slowly dying around her. The voices faded, maids brought all the remaining food back to the kitchen. Last minute, Sansa managed to steal a lemon cake, though. With her fingers sticky with the delicious lemon curd, she watched the people fulfill their duties, remembering that she also had a duty to complete. That thought brought a smile to her tired face and made her stick her index finger inside her mouth in a long, lascivious gesture.

And just at that moment, he turned.

Sansa froze, her finger still in her mouth, her tongue wrapped around it. As she slowly drew it back out, her saliva stained her skin and even clung to her chin. He still talked to her mother, but his eyes focused on that little vixen, his gaze unsettling and delirious. He was completely sober, yet he looked drunk. His face was slightly red, his forehead glistened with sweat and the white of his eyes was clouded with a feeling that left Sansa shaking. _Where's Walda?_ Sansa thought, wiping her dirty finger off her dress, suddenly feeling ashamed of her behavior. Sometimes, she really wanted to act in a slutty way, she wanted it so much, yet, when she did, it dawned on her that she was a lady. She was supposed to be a lady and this was simply something forbidden to her. Sometimes, she even wished to be just a tavern wench. Anything, just to be allowed to look at men the way she wanted to. 

A warm feeling pooled in her abdomen as Lord Bolton stood up and made his way out of the room. His motions were graceful, well-coordinated and swift and just... effortless. He walked with an effortless ease, a stability of a grown man challenged by life and wars, a grown man who have won all of them. 

***

She clearly resembled her sister now, carefully stepping down the corridor, hidden in the dark. The whole castle was long gone into sweet slumber, with one - or two - restless soul left - Sansa. Before she made her way to her chambers, Jeyne eyed her with that special look, implying that she really meant her to stay true to her task. Sansa decided not to resist. She _tried_ to sleep, but each time she closed her eyes, a vision appeared behind her closed lids. A pale face, greying hair, soft blue eyes that almost seemed translucent, a broad figure dressed in leather and furs. Sansa furiously shot up and sat on her bed, calculating, wetness dampening her thighs. _It needs to be done._

That was how she found herself roaming the sleeping Winterfell like a fool now. She followed her instincts, surprisingly sharp this late at night, not so surprisingly _ravenous_. She left her shoes in her chambers so she would make less noise and the cold ground now stung her feet with its chilling touch. Only few more steps and she'll reach the end of the hall. Was she wrong? Were his chambers in a different part of the castle? 

Suddenly, she heard a splash of water. It was almost playful. She instantly remembered how her mother used to bath her, laughing and fooling around with her. She imagined how would it feel like if it was Lord Bolton taking a bath with her. How his hand would feel between her legs, gently rubbing her folds to cleanse her. She held her breath. _Not now, stupid. _Sansa moved past another door, only to see a little creak filled with warm yellow light of a candle. She stopped right before the door, trying to convince herself to head back to her bed immediately. She felt like a complete idiot, swallowing that dumb bait Jeyne placed on her. She wasn't even serious. But the difference between Sansa and Jeyne was huge - Sansa _was_ serious.

She leaned towards the door a little bit more, trying to catch any glimpse of Lord Bolton inside the room. Gently, she stuck out her arm and pushed on the wood lightly, hoping it wouldn’t creak. The Seven were with her this time. The space grew bigger and Sansa could actually fit her eye there. She bit her lower lip.

Lord Bolton sat in a basin, his skin damp with water, light from the candles illuminating him, drawing attention to his well-build frame. His shoulders were broad and muscular, but not too much - as well as his chest, firm and covered in grey hair that was now completely wet and laying flat against his skin. Sansa shifted in her nightgown, uncomfortable with her thighs pressed together, her knees imprinting itself on the ground. She might even leave some steaming burn marks where her skin touched the stone. Her hands were on the ground as well, fingers pressed against the cold surface. Her nostrils flared, her forehead glistened with sweat. 

Sansa quickly swung to the side and leaned against the wall. Thinking about something like this was completely different than actually doing it. She wiped the hair off her forehead and took a deep breath. To her horror, a soft moan escaped her lips. She gasped and held her hand against her mouth. Then, she got on her knees and tried to crawl as far from the door as possible, her heart only moments from collapsing.

"Lady Sansa?"

She froze. _Seven hells._

Sansa realized she must have looked completely ridiculous. Her lean body curled on the ground, her hair ruffled up, a wild look in her eyes. She looked like an animal, like a rat caught in the middle of a raid. Basically, she was.

"Where's your lady wife, Lord Bolton?" Sansa whispered, her body shaking in fear and embarrassment. And desire. _Shouldn't it be her to wash you?_

"Lady Walda is asleep. Unlike you, my lady."

They both seemed to simply ignore the fact that Sansa just spied on him during his private time. Maybe even Lord Bolton himself was driven by such weird thoughts. He didn't even blink, his hand simply shot towards her and when she didn't move an inch, Sansa felt his fingers wrap around her waist and drag her to her feet. She slowly looked up, crossing the path of hair running up to his navel, spread across his stomach and then settle again on his chest. She swallowed, hard. The only thing covering his body was her own. She didn't dare to look down where the shadows pooled, where something much darker lurked upon her.

"Would you mind if I took her place, Lord Bolton?" 

_Seven hells!_

***

_I could be **yours**, I could be your baby tonight_  
_Topple you down from your sky forty stories high_  
_Shining like a god, can't believe I got you inside_  
_Look at what I bought, not a second thought, oh Romeo_


	4. kiss me on my open mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we're on that PWP train (starting off soft), though there'll be some plot later on. Enjoy! ;)  
Lyrics: Off To The Races by Lana Del Rey. Btw, I've got a Roosa playlist on Spotify, anyone interested? ;)

_Light of my life, fire of my loins_  
_Be a good baby, do what I want_  
_Light of my life, fire of my loins_  
_Gimme them gold coins_

***

The vision that unraveled in front of his door would describe itself as "sinfully dangerous, inappropriate and tempting". Sansa Stark, displayed on the ground, her fingers clenched, her entire body covered in the sweat of fear, her hair nasty, as well as her parted, juicy lips and the fantastic doe-eyed look. Roose Bolton watched her writhe and squeal in desire, he watched her arch her back and beg to bury his fingers in her sweet little cunt, but then he blinked and the vision was gone. But Sansa _was_ there. Definitely scared and not entirely sure of the outcome of her move, but somehow bold. She tried to play the innocent one, but she was the more wicked creature of those two.

Yet, she was in danger. 

He quickly brought her up from the cold stone, her warm body settling in his palms, his fingers wide on her back, painfully hot when they slid lower where her waist was the thinnest. He could feel her tense up under the awfully thin nightgown, he could see her perky pink nipples pierce the fabric where her upper body met his chest, he could _smell_ her arousal. His nostrils flared slightly and his cock twitched when she released that sentence from her little nice mouth.

_Would you mind if I took her place, Lord Bolton?_

His jaw clenched as he stared into those scared blue eyes. He couldn't tell the difference between hers and her mother's, but Sansa's eyes definitely tempted all the devils lurking from beneath his skin. Her face was completely smooth, not a single wrinkle ruining the porcelain white of it, not a single tragedy of life strangling her soul. She was so pure, so innocent, _perfect to get corrupted. _Roose slowly licked his lips and Sansa's eyes widened in horror, knowing very well what that meant. Roose smirked, the slight smile reaching the corners of his eyes. 

"I wouldn't mind that at all, Lady Sansa, though I'm not entirely sure if that's suitable for a young woman in your position," he tried to convince her, to convince _him_, to back up, to save her innocence, to save her childish view on the world, on men. He didn't want her vision to get ruined, he didn't want to steal her childhood from her, though she was a woman now. At fifteen years, she was perfectly fit to get married and give heirs to some young lord of her own youthful blood. But giving all of this to some old brute like him was definitely not the greatest option, though it would benefit him very much.

"I know what I want, Lord Bolton."

"And what do you want?" His brows furrowed in confusion. She was more determined than he thought, more fearless than he had anticipated. Her voice didn't shake a bit, it was completely still and brave, like she had planned this for a very long time. That thought made Roose shiver in desire. 

"I want _you_."

His grip on her waist tightened, it was now pretty desperate and needy. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. It wasn't hard to get captivated by a young beauty, by the chance blooming in front of him. He had to think about Walda, that little tub of lard, peacefully sleeping in their chamber, wrapped in furs, not knowing at all that her lord husband was on the edge of madness now, trying to convince himself to shove that little temptress into the dark and slam the door behind him. But he didn't. Instead, his hands slid to her own and he gently led her into his room. His hand moved to her shoulder, hot against the thin fabric, imprinting itself into her skin. Like a mark, like the first sign of being _owned_. He wasn't exactly sure who was owned by whom, though. Sansa had a strange effect on him, he would raise his armies just to make sure nobody would scratch that beautiful face. He wanted to keep that little fox to himself, to make her cum on his fingers, on his cock, on his tongue, over and over. His hand slid under the thin gown and teased her shoulder. She turned to face him, another wide-eyed expression on her face. 

"Would you like to reconsider your decision, Sansa?"

She shook her head. 

_Gods._

***

Jeyne was completely wrong. Not a single wrinkle on his arse, just a perfectly smooth layer of skin. Sansa had to bite her lip when he turned around and let her inside. She watched the muscles on his back move, she watched his hairy thighs, the back of his head covered in thin brown hair, the sensual curve of his neck, blood pumping through the thick vein. She couldn't help but wonder why it was so normal for him to just walk naked around her, not even a single sign of self-consciousness holding him back. Well, he didn't have anything to be ashamed of. When he finally turned around to fully face her, Sansa's breath caught in her lungs and a hand shot up to cover her mouth. He was very well developed. His cock hung between his legs, long and thick, the head slightly red and already slick with desire. 

Sansa felt the saliva pool inside her mouth. _I'm such a dirty thing,_ she thought. She watched him in awe, not even blinking. 

"You've never seen a naked man before." It wasn't even a question. Of course she haven't. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Sansa. I don't bite," he said softly and _almost_ chuckled. "Only if you want me to," he added and Sansa could feel the blood rush to settle in her cheeks.

"Then bite me, Lord Bolton," she whispered. Roose's head tilted to the side as he made few steps forward and cupped her cheeks in his palms. He kissed her hard, harder than she thought he would, but his lips felt too good against her own. Soon, she started to whimper, but he swallowed all her moans, all the words she wanted to but couldn't say, all the dirty thoughts, all the fear of the unknown. He didn't forget about her request, though. The tip of his tongue shot out and circled the edges of her lip. Then, his teeth sunk into her lower lip, hard enough to make her feel some pain, but still gentle. Gods, he could bite those lips forever, it was like biting into a freshly baked piece of meat, delicious, juicy, almost dissolving on his tongue.

It didn't take him long to leave her lips behind and move on. As he kissed and licked her neck, her jaws, her ears, he realized this was exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Her fingers tangled in his hair, scratching his back, her mouth letting out sweet whimpers and breathless moans. It was all too good for him. He didn't deserve to possess such a treasure, yet he stole everything he could. She didn't belong to him in any way, yet he devoured her like she was completely his. When his fingers moved to undress her, she didn't even wince. 

***

_Light of his life, fire of his loins_  
_Keep me forever, tell me you want me_  
_Light of your life, fire of your loins_  
_Tell me you want me, gimme them coins_


	5. a turn of events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is awfully short... for a reason! It's just a tease, a snippet of something so much bigger. :)) *pun intended*  
I realized this idea deserves more than a one-shot. What do you think? ;)  
I'll extend this, probably from THIS point in the story. So, stay tuned for a new work to appear on my profile.  
By the way, HUGE thanks to all of you who commented or just clicked the magical kudos button, it certainly brought a smile to my face! ♥
> 
> EDIT: I already posted the first chapter of the extension story by accident, so I guess the fate decided for me, lol.

There was a hard throb in her abdomen as his tongue swiftly slipped inside her mouth. Her knees dropped a little and his strong hand immediately moved to grab her by the waist, gently holding her in place. In his arms, Sansa's body weakened like a rag doll, her limbs completely soft and shaky as he kissed his way down her throat, his lips moving against hers, against her burning skin, lingering in her pulse points as if he actually sniffed the smell of her blood. Somehow, he tasted like mead, even though there wasn't even a drop of it in his mouth. But his kiss intoxicated her like poison, her sharp mind drowned in darkness and all that terrible dampness pooled between her legs. Gods, she was a living mess. Only a remnant of a lady she once was, the lady she was before she dropped on her knees and crawled towards his chamber door, the lady she was before she even started to think about this man. Her shaking fingers roamed his shoulders, tugging on the leather, trying to expose his skin, his _flesh_.

"Lord Bolton," she whispered into his mouth, breathless and desperate. He couldn't help but stop for a moment and his eyes lowered to stare at her lips, wet and swollen and dark red, blood pushing under the soft skin, so soft he could break it with a single bite and all that blood would spill out. And he would devour it, every last drop of it.

Roose licked his lips.

"I want you to claim my maidenhead."

A loud sound echoed between the walls as his hand smacked against her cheek. Sansa stared back at him in disbelief, a grotesque expression on her face. Her expression froze in a whirlwind of rage and fear, her pupils stone-cold, but her lips flaming. She resembled an emotion captured on a painting, lifeless, but still somehow _lively_. Roose stared her dead in the eyes, his hand still in the air. His fingers trembled slightly. Not from guilt, but excitement. Sansa picked herself up, she held her chin high, not giving a single damn about the outline of his fingers imprinted on her pale skin.

"_Please_."

Roose's breath grew heavy. There was a noticeable thrill, he had to admit. If he was to claim her, she'd have to marry him no matter what. His lips twitched in a slight smile. Oh, there certainly _was_ a thrill. The imagine of fucking Ned Stark over, because he was balls deep in his sweet little daughter who would be completely _worthless_ in spite of political advances, basically just a wench for Lord Bolton to enjoy. Yes, it would make her Lady Bolton. But the shame. Ned would be mortified. 

Her plea was definitely something to consider.

"You don't know what you're asking for, Lady Sansa. Hypothetically, if I were to claim your maidenhead, you wouldn't have any other choice but to become my wife. You would put incredible shame upon your family, especially your lord father." Of course he tried to steer the other way. But Roose Bolton wasn't famous for his nobility, so he just tried. He didn't _insist_.

Sansa's eyes widened, a strange spark crossing her gaze.

Oh, no_._

_Oh, yes._


End file.
